Anticipating Amends
by Rainstorm55
Summary: Todd finds himself transplanted back in time…to encounter Marty and his younger self. Can he undo his worst sins and kill his darkest demons before they're born?
1. Chapter 1

Anticipating Amends

Rating: M

Summary: Todd finds himself transplanted back in time…to encounter Marty and his younger self. Can he undo his worst sins and kill his darkest demons before they're born?

Disclaimer: This tale is directly inspired by Stephen King's excellent novel _11/22/63_, in which an ordinary man finds a wormhole back in time and uses it to try and stop tragedy before it occurs. No copyright infringement intended.

The characters and some of the dialogue and backstory herein are the property of the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended. This is a non-profit fan fiction written for entertainment purposes only.

The italicised flashback dialogue in Chapter 1 is the property of ABC.

Trigger Alert: Please Note - This story includes detailed background/plot references to rape and sexual violence. No explicit sex is included – reader discretion is advised.

Author's Note: In this story, Victor Lord Jr. does NOT exist and Todd does not have a brother. Adult Todd in this story is as portrayed by Trevor St. John. Younger Todd is as portrayed by Roger Howarth.

Glory, built on selfish principles, is shame and guilt. - William Cowper

Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment; only there does its satisfaction lie. - Lawrence Durrell

December 21st, 2010

Rodi's Tavern was seasonally styled in bright lights of all shapes and colors. They wound around table legs and dangled from the ceiling. Wreaths even hung on the door. Thankfully, there was no mistletoe in sight.

The scotch was twenty years old – single malt. It was the best Rodi's had to offer, and the best that money could buy. It was rich and sent a wonderfully agonizing path of fire roaring from his tongue down to his gut.

It wasn't working.

He was nowhere close to the numbness that was the only reward of plowing shots like he'd been for the last hour and a half.

_Why are you surprised, pal? You have a strong resistance to booze. Doesn't even cause you impotence. Just ask Marty. She knows. You were pretty soused the night of the Fling, but you could still put it to her with no problem. None at all. _

_**Shut the hell up!** _

Todd was on his seventh drink, and he still couldn't get the sneering voice in his mind to can it. No more than he could get Marty's face out of his mind when she looked at him, horrified, and declared, "Hope's all I have."

Not true. She had a nice home, tons of money in the bank, a doctorate, a good job in her trained field where her colleagues thought she walked on water, and pretty soon she'd probably have McPain back too. Todd didn't see how John could leave Marty for long – even with gals as fetching as Natalie and Kelly waiting in the wings.

_Never mind what she has. You couldn't even have the papers couriered to her. You had to go to her house personally and give her the news yourself. Not to mention laugh at her with Natalie in her own living room. _

Starr didn't know yet that he'd tricked her into signing the restraining order that would keep Marty a hundred feet away from Hope. He supposed it was only a matter of time before she found out – and like as not, she'd hate him for it.

Well, what choice had he had? It was for the best. In time, Starr would realize that.

Marty's huge, bleeding heart had almost gotten Hope and Starr killed. If she hadn't harbored that loco bitch Hannah, the girls never would have been kidnapped, and her precious Cole wouldn't be in jail either.

_And if Cole hadn't shot that scum Elijah, he would have kept going after all the girls. Maybe even Jack and Sam. Killing Marty's baby before it was even born wouldn't have been enough for him. No way, no how. Cole did you a favor – and he'll be paying for it the rest of his life.  
_

"Another, my good sir. Make it a double," Todd called to the bartender as he held up his glass.

The tall, brown-haired young man handed a burly patron who'd been matching Todd shot for shot another slug of Jim Beam.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Manning, but I can't serve you anymore."

"You what? You're cutting me off?" Todd scowled. "No way. He hasn't shut up yet."

"Who, sir? Is another customer disturbing you?"

"The Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder," Todd explained.

"Just give a man his drink," insisted Todd's seatmate, glaring at the bartender with bleary eyes. "S'almost Christmas."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, but this will have to be your last as well."

"The hell you say!" the portly man erupted. Even over the constant background noise of the crowded, smoky bar, Todd winced at the grating sound.

"Just gimme my keys," Todd ordered.

"I can't do that, Mr. Manning. You handed your keys to me over an hour ago so you could keep purchasing drinks. You can come and pick your car up in the morning…"

Todd cursed a blue streak, shook his head in weary disgust and dug out his wallet. "Never mind. I'll go call myself a cab. I'm a cab."

He stood up from his stool and tossed two hundred-dollar bills on top of the bar. Way too much, but what the hell. 'Twas the season.

"Here. Keep the change. Top of the Christmas to you."

"Good night, sir," the bartender said quietly. "Be safe."

Todd snorted as he threaded his way through the scratched, wooden tables to access the restrooms in the back corridor of Rodi's before he left the esteemed premises.

"Goddammit!" he growled as he clipped his knee hard on the corner of the pinball machine.

_It's not the same one Marty played the night she blew you off, but it's a nice one, isn't it, pal? Almost like the pinball machine from _The Accused_. Just think – if they ever recast that movie, you could play the lead role. _

_Any of the lead roles. You're a shoo-in, pal. You've got three finished rapes and one attempted to your credit, and hey – now you've been raped yourself. You'd be a natural. _

"For the pleasure of shutting you the hell up!" Todd snarled to his cricket-voice.

He banged through the bathroom door – and a blast of icy wind howled victoriously at him. It was the kind of biting cold that made you wish for snow to come and take some of the chill from the air. Nice move. He hadn't accessed the men's room at all; he'd gone out the back door into the alley. With no jacket.

Todd swore vilely as he kicked the chain-link fence in front of him.

A fence that was all too familiar.

"No…"

"_I've been waiting for you, Marty..." _

He'd blamed her for exercising her right to free speech, just like he'd blamed her for everything else. The familiar rage was choking him slowly. He'd wanted to share that feeling. His teachers had always said he wasn't a good boy when it came to sharing.

And didn't he just love to prove people wrong – especially about him?

"_You listen to me very carefully…'cause you know what happens to bad girls who don't listen, don't you?" _

Visions of sugarplums and pounding gavels and thoughts of what they did to rapists in prison danced in his head all night, and booze wasn't enough to help him sleep.

"_You're not going back on that stand. There's not gonna be a second trial. And you're not going back on that radio show, either…" _

His girl had defied him, of course. Even back then, he hadn't expected anything less or anything else. Not that that had appeased the red fury that made him pin her against the fence.

"_Maybe you'll get me all excited again, and we'll do it right here in the alleyway!"_

He'd torn off the breast pocket of her chambray shirt and tried to stuff it in her mouth. In the end he didn't have to – her terrified cries choked her easier than the cloth could have.

Muscle memory was powerful thing, after all. It didn't matter if the magic feather was a sweatband or a piece of a blouse.

Todd bitterly applauded his younger self – it had been the absolutely perfect move to keep her quiet.

Then her friend had come out – just in time.

"_Get your hands off her right now, Todd!"_

"_I thought I was a pretty good teacher – but it looks like I'm going to have to give Marty here another lesson. And guess what, little Looney Bird? You get to watch!" _

Marty's petrified whimpers and yelps clanged in his mind. They easily drowned out the present noise of Bon Jovi crooning "Please Come Home for Christmas" back in the bar.

"_Don't fight me, Marty. Don't…"_

The last thing he remembered was the sensation of his thudding heart, which felt like it would crash through his chest, leaving him dead before he could take her, stake her, claim her, make her scream, make her his. He'd be gone, and she'd be happy…

Then thunder had boomed in his head.

That was the last thing he knew. Everything else that happened, he'd heard from the doctors and the police.

Todd clenched the chain link of the fence tight in his ungloved hands, marveling at how frigid through it was. Cold enough to burn.

Just one Patrick Ewing swing to his head had stamped his ticket "Game Over". And given him his gorgeous scar to boot. The brave brunette had saved Marty, just like her boyfriend Velveteen had saved the day at the Tabernacle.

If Luna hadn't come along, who kn-

Todd's thought cut out as he heard a sudden outraged squealing of brakes.

Then everything cut out.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This tale is directly inspired by Stephen King's excellent novel _11/22/63_, in which an ordinary man finds a wormhole back in time and uses it to try and stop tragedy before it occurs. No copyright infringement intended.

Disclaimer: The characters and some of the dialogue and backstory herein are the property of the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended. This is a non-profit fan fiction written for entertainment purposes only.

Trigger Alert: Please Note - This story includes detailed background/plot references to rape and sexual violence. No explicit sex is included – reader discretion is advised.

"Just the Two of Us" – lyrics (c) Bill Withers. All Rights Reserved.

_umber whunnn. yerrnn umber whunnnn. fayunnn. __These sounds: even in the dark._

_Misery_ - Stephen King

I can recall some sensations felt in that interval; but few thoughts framed, and no actions performed. I knew I was...in a narrow bed. To that bed I seemed to have grown; I lay on it motionless as a stone; and to have torn me from it would have been almost to kill me. I took no note of the lapse of time-of the change from morning to noon, from noon to evening. I observed when any one entered or left the apartment: I could even tell who they were; I could understand what was said when the speaker stood near to me; but I could not answer; to open my lips or move my limbs was equally impossible.

_Jane Eyre_ – Charlotte Brontë

"What time is it?"

**Time for you to go harass someone else and let me sleep. **

"Mr. Laurence, I need you to wake up and tell me what time it is."

**Half-past put a sock in it! **

Todd willed Mr. Laurence – whoever he was - to speak up and answer the questions so they – whoever they were - would go away and let him rest.

He lay absolutely still – as if he had any choice in the matter – and marvelled at how coherent his thoughts were when his body wouldn't do a damn thing.

He could hear – obviously.

He knew who he was, and where – hopefully the hospital, otherwise his ass was well and truly grass.

He even knew what had happened. Squealing brakes outside a crowded bar on an icy winter night? Elementary, my dear Watson. Somebody the worse for wear – someone who shouldn't have been driving – had gotten behind the wheel, and had evidently almost turned him into road pizza. Even if they hadn't done it deliberately, he supposed it could be chalked up to karma.

That was about all he knew.

Todd couldn't feel if bandages were covering his face. All he could do was pray he wasn't blind – just too tired to open his eyes.

But how could he be sure?

He tried flexing his fingers. Nyet.

He tried wiggling his toes. Nada.

If he couldn't move, who knew when – or if – he'd ever be able to walk?

Walk.

Walker.

That's when he realized -

_They weren't calling any mystery roommate "Mr. Laurence", pal. _

_They meant you. _

Before Todd could begin to think why they thought he was Walker Laurence, he slipped away again.

**a**

**a**

**a**

There was no pain, Todd thought. That was a good thing – wasn't it?

_I wouldn't get too excited, pal. They probably have you flying so high on morphine you wouldn't feel it if an elephant danced the Electric Slide on your chest. _

He was ingesting oxygen, of course. But he couldn't tell if his diaphragm was doing the work, or if he was on life support with tubes up his nose and God knows where else.

He could hear medical personnel talking, still asking him to wake up, to look at the clock and tell them what time it was. God, why did they keep asking him to move?

**Maybe they think I ****can't**** move. Maybe they think I'm paralysed. **

_Maybe you __are_ _paralysed. _

As the inescapable nightmare thought rushed his brain like the car, or truck, or whatever it was, had rushed his body, Todd's mind started to race.

Why were they asking him to talk as well as move?

**Maybe they think I won't be able to talk. Maybe they think I'm brain damaged.**

_Who says you __aren't__ brain damaged? _

**No! I can think perfectly clearly!**

_Ah, but ya can't talk, can you? Let's face facts here. They want you to wake up, to sit up, to tell the time and talk to them about it. Babies can do half of those things. _

_Apparently, you can't. _

**The hell I can't!**

_Sorry, but I think you're in a bit of trouble here, pal. In fact, I think you're screwed. _

**Screw ****you!**** I just need time!**

The sound of his own voice mocking him, laughing at him, made his head ache.

_Well, that you've got, pal. Nothing but all the time in the world to lie here in time-out like the bad boy you've been. Too bad you didn't read more good books while you had the chance, 'cause I think it's gonna be just you, me and our thoughts for a nice, long, cosy while._

**Take a hike!**

_Where can I go, pal? I'm in you. Hell, I __am__ you. Your better half, you might say, since no woman will ever be twisted enough to take up with you again. _

**No! **

_Just the two of us...we can make it if we try. Just the two of us...you and I. Come on, sing it with me. You know the words..._

Mercifully, he slipped away again.

**a**

**a**

**a**

"Did he say anything?"

"Yes, Dr. Nayhurn, he used complete sentences and told us to go away – among other things."

**I did? **

**I did! **

**Suck it, cricket! I spoke! **

_Ah, but you can't remember doing it, can you? I wouldn't start shredding the confetti yet, pal. _

"So he's not aphasic. That's excellent. Keep a close watch and call me the minute anything changes."

"Yes, doctor."

Then there was nothing. What seemed like forever of nothing.

**a  
**

**a  
**

**a  
**

**Beep. **

**Beep. **

**Beep. **

Why hadn't he noticed before how damned irritating the sound of the hospital machinery was?

_Welcome back to us, pal. _

**God, not you. **

_Pal, no more teasing. I swear, but not for nothing – you need to wake up now. You've got to open your eyes._

Todd couldn't argue with the truth of that statement, so he tried.

**I can't. **

_You can, pal. _

**I'm telling you I tried! **

_Try harder, dammit! _

**I can't. I need more time. **

_You might have less time than you thought, pal. I hate to scare you, but check this out. What if five years – or ten - or more – passed between each of those times you woke up? _

The horror of this possibility dawned on Todd like an impending cyclone.

**No. God, no! **

_I hope not, pal. But you need to realise that you could wake up and find yourself seventy years old, just back home from a nice refreshing coma. The orderlies who worked here when you were admitted could have nicknamed you Rip Van Winkle. Their kids could be employees here and taking care of you by now. _

**No! If that's true, I'd rather be dead. **

_You would? In that case, it's a shame you let Blair rip up that "Do Not Resuscitate" order back in '06, isn't it? Now would you rather rise and shine and deal with this crap, or would you rather rot here like old asparagus? _

**This isn't happening. **

_Oh, don't be such a little __bitch__! Instead of laying there like a damn coward, here's a thought – why don't you __wake the hell up__ so you can find out if Starr's a grandm-_

Todd was still musing over this thought when his eyes opened.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This tale is directly inspired by Stephen King's excellent novel _11/22/63_, in which an ordinary man finds a wormhole back in time and uses it to try and stop tragedy before it occurs. No copyright infringement intended.

The characters and some of the backstory herein are the property of the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended. This is a non-profit fan fiction written for entertainment purposes only.

Trigger Alert: Please Note - This story includes detailed background/plot references to rape and sexual violence. No explicit sex is included – reader discretion is advised.

Author's Note: In this story, Victor Lord Jr. does NOT exist and Todd does not have a brother. Adult Todd in this story is as portrayed by Trevor St. John. Younger Todd is as portrayed by Roger Howarth.

"One can survive everything nowadays except death." – Oscar Wilde

Todd lay stock-still, calmly registering his wakefulness.

It was daytime.

Weak sunshine flowed through the tiny, high window of his small room. A round table to his right held a plastic pitcher of water. No flowers.

No shock there.

Todd didn't know if he was in the ICU, or whether he should be glad or apprehensive that he was alone. Maybe he hadn't been there long enough to be paired with a roomie.

Or maybe he'd been there so long they'd given up hope on him and stuck him out of the way.

He looked down the length of his prone, hospital-gown clad torso at his body. Down – he didn't have to lift his head to see himself, which meant his bed was angled slightly upwards.

All of his limbs were free.

He couldn't help feeling relieved at that. For all his lack of sensation, he could have been mummified in a full-body cast and not known it.

He tried wiggling his toes again. And ohlord did it hurt. Todd groaned through the wave of pain that ripped up his legs, almost too miserable to be glad that he could see his feet move under the blanket.

He looked frantically at his hands. To no surprise, he saw that his left arm was hooked up to an IV that he couldn't feel. Clear liquid was dripping from the bag into his forearm through a tube taped to his wrist.

Within reach of his right hand was a call button – if he could reach it.

He would have sold his soul for a mirror – or a calendar.

His hands didn't look wrinkled or age-spotted.

But what did that mean? It's not like he'd been farming out in the sun. They could have been giving him manicures for all he knew, and he might very well be in his sixties.

Nothing in the room was cluing him in to how long he'd been there either. What did he know from hospital equipment and how current it was?

He had to speak to a nurse, and that quick.

Todd cleared his throat. A mistake. The instant burning made him wince. They might have been lubricating his guts, but his gullet was dry as a bone.

"Hehhhl…"

The dry, whistling sound would have been funny if it weren't so pathetic.

He tried again, and only got a sorer throat.

No use.

_Change tactics, pal. You know what they say about insanity. _

Yep. Doing the same thing repeatedly and hoping for a different result.

He could exhaust himself like this in no time and be no closer to human contact. Besides, in a busy hospital, there was no guarantee he'd be able to call nearly loud enough for anyone to hear him even if they were listening. It would have to be the button.

_Steady as she goes, pal. No one knows you're here yet. Don't drop it and don't. Go back. To sleep. _

Todd watched himself reach for it in slow motion, absolutely sure that he would knock it off the table and then slip back into oblivion before he could speak to anyone.

It hurt too much to move quickly. He finally reached the button after several tries. Being careful not to grip it too tight, he pressed it three times.

He listened as carefully as he could.

Nothing.

And then help came quicker than he could have dared to wish for.

Within no more than a minute, the unlocked door burst open and a spry, petite brunette in her '20s and a nurse's uniform ran into the room.

Tired as he was, Todd realized instantly that the only reason he hadn't heard her sprint down the hall was because of her soft-soled shoes. Her speed to reach him touched him unaccountably. He'd thank her as soon as he could speak. Hell, he'd kiss her if he could.

When she saw him lying still, but clearly alert, she smiled widely.

"Good morning, Mr. Laurence! My name's Beth. I'm so glad you're awake."

His mouth opened, and she stepped closer when she saw he was trying to speak.

"I've already paged your neurologist, sir. Dr. Nayhurn is on his way. How are you feeling?"

Todd felt his dry eyes widen in their sockets as he tried with all his might to ask the question that would determine his sanity, his hope…

"Hahhh…how…lahhh.."

Thank God, she understood the query in his croak.

"You were admitted to the hospital two weeks ago, Mr. Laurence."

Todd leaned his head back, and felt unashamed tears of gratitude roll down into his ears.

It wasn't 2040. He hadn't lost his life – not yet.

Beth clicked her tongue in concern as she came to the bedside table. She poured water from the pitcher into a plastic cup, added a straw and offered it to him.

"Try and drink a little, please."

"Mmmno…"

"Just a few sips, Mr. Laurence. It will help you talk to me, and I need you to answer some questions."

Todd sighed in fatigue and frustration, but turned his head to the cup.

"That's it. There we go."

The first two sips hurt like hell.

Then the cool, clean flavor hit him, and he tried to guzzle the glass.

"Okay. That's enough now," Beth said gently as she took it away.

Todd coughed and managed to sit up a little straighter. "I'm parched."

"I know. Talk to me a little and you can have some more. What's my name?"

Todd looked at her strangely. "Beth."

"Good," she nodded as she took out a small penlight. "Follow the light with your eyes without turning your head, please."

Keeping still made the task easier, and although the relentless dancing pinpoint of light made his head scream, Todd managed to follow it.

"Very good. How old are you, Mr. Laurence?" she asked.

"Thirty-nine," Todd answered, relieved again that he'd only been in the Land of Nod for two weeks, not two decades. His throat felt infinitely better – the water had worked wonders.

"That's good. I have a silly black-and-white cat named Enrique. What's my name?"

Todd blinked in confusion at the non sequitur about her cat and at her repeated question. "Beth."

"Good! Where did you go to kindergarten, Mr. Laurence?"

"Chicago," Todd told her, again truthfully. He decided it was better to keep lying about his name until he could find out why the hell they thought he was Walker.

"The Windy City. Excellent. I went to kindergarten in Connecticut, and we sang a song there I want you to sing with me now. _Said the thousand-legged worm, as he gave a little squirm, 'Has anybody seen a leg of mine_?'" she sang a nursery rhyme that Sam had loved as a baby.

"_For if it can't be found, I shall have to hop around on the other nine hundred ninety-nine_," Todd finished weakly, wondering if Beth wasn't a mental patient in disguise, not a nurse.

"Superb! What kind of pet do I have?"

Todd sighed ruefully as he finally understood her line of questioning.

Brain damage. She was testing him for cranial injuries.

"Your dumb black-and-white cat's name is Enrique, Beth."

Her pretty, freckled face split in a wide grin. "Hey, I said he was silly, not dumb! But thanking you for saying my name."

"What happened to me, Beth?"

Concern clouded her forehead. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I was outside Rodi's Tavern – pretty wasted – and somebody must have rammed me into a fence with their car."

"What else can you remember of the accident?" Beth asked eagerly.

"Nothing," Todd admitted quietly. "But that's probably because I was drunk, not because I hit the wall."

Anger gave a silver glint to Beth's grey eyes. "At least you weren't driving, which is more than can probably be said for the other guy – or woman."

Her short statement told him a lot more than he'd known a minute ago. "You mean they haven't…"

"Found the psychopath? No, but if they do, I hope they get life without parole," Beth scowled. Then she shook her head. "But I should be asking how you're feeling, but burdening you with mine. Can you wiggle your toes for me?"

Todd moaned like a kid ordered out of bed for school on a wintry Monday morning.

But he managed to do it.

"Fantastic!" Beth enthused as his feet moved. She held up her hands. "High-five."

Todd chuckled as he clapped hands with her, and again when she made him squeeze her fingers.

"You're doing really great. Now, is there anything I can get for you?"

_Yes – answers. Where are my kids? Do I have brain damage? _

As the second question occurred to him, Todd couldn't resist his knee-jerk impulse to ask for the best person he knew to help him – and the last person who probably would.

"Please, page Dr. Saybrooke."

"Who?"

The one word was enough to catapult him into fear again. What if he'd finally driven Marty away from Llanview for good? Todd started to shake with barely repressed panic. It hurt.

He did his best to stop his trembling, but he couldn't keep the tension from his voice. "Dr. Marty Saybrooke."

To his growing dread, Beth shook her head. "I don't know Dr. Saybrooke, and I've been a nurse here for two years. Is he a visiting lecturer?"

_He? Oh, for Christ's sake._

"Never mind about Dr. Saybrooke. Will you please see what's keeping my neurologist?"

Her relief at being given a request she could fulfill was palpable. "Right away, sir. I'm going to tell him when he gets here what a great job you've been doing since you awoke. And I'm going to send in one of my colleagues to be with you until Dr. Nayhurn gets here, just to keep you alert. It won't be long."

_Swell. More company, _Todd thought as Beth patted his hand and hurried out of the room. It was ungrateful, but all the talking had wrung him out, and all he wanted to do was sleep again. For a couple of days straight, as long as he knew he'd wake up at the end of them.

He didn't have but a minute to lean his head against the pillow and drink a few deep breaths of the dry hospital air before his next visitor arrived.

"Good morning, Mr. Laurence. Welcome back. How are we today?"

"I don't know about you, but I feel like…"

Todd looked up at his new guest – and froze.

The young nurse at the foot of the bed smiled encouragingly at him…with warm brown eyes as she pushed her long, thick, dark-blonde hair from her face.

Silence screamed in the room as Todd took in all the details of her he could see. Her honey-toned skin…the small mole on her right cheek…

Todd swallowed. He never realized later where he got the oxygen necessary to ask her name, but he needed to know, because the handle he was matching to her face was impossible.

"Alice?"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This tale is directly inspired by Stephen King's excellent novel _11/22/63_, in which an ordinary man finds a wormhole back in time and uses it to try and stop tragedy before it occurs. No copyright infringement intended.

The characters and some of the backstory herein are the property of the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended. This is a non-profit fan fiction written for entertainment purposes only.

**Trigger Alert**: Please Note - This story includes detailed background/plot references to rape and sexual violence. No explicit sex is included – reader discretion is advised.

Author's Note: In this story, Victor Lord Jr. does NOT exist and Todd does not have a brother. Adult Todd in this story is as portrayed by Trevor St. John. Younger Todd is as portrayed by Roger Howarth.

The (woman in the) other portrait was me!

"How is this possible?" Christine whispered. "How can it have happened?"

Erik shrugged. "From time to time certain bone structures are repeated without a blood tie. No human face is entirely unique, my dear. I daresay somewhere in the world there may be another poor devil who looks like me."

_Phantom_, Susan Kay

Todd was horrified, but the pretty nurse opposite him lit up like a Christmas tree when he said her name.

"Yes, sir, I'm Alice."

Todd just stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Mr. Laurence, are you all right? Is your pain worse? Can you tell me what's wrong?"

When he didn't respond, she took a ginger step toward him and explained why she was so glad he knew who she was.

"We spoke two days ago when you woke up briefly, and I wasn't wearing a nametag. I told you my name, and you evidently remember it. That's wonderful! We need to tell Dr. Nayhurn as soon as he arrives."

Todd drew in a ragged breath as his hands grew icy. After another long moment, he realised he was probably starting to scare the girl (Alice!), and managed to look down at the plain white cotton hospital blanket.

Alice Henson had moved away from Llanview six months after Powell beat and brutally raped her in the hospital parking garage. When Todd asked Ray about her, his appointed therapist had grudgingly admitted she'd moved to Colorado, but refused to tell him any more.

What in God's name was happening to him?

If Alice had had a daughter in 1995, the year after she was attacked, she'd only be 15 now. Even the chance that Alice had had an identical twin wouldn't solve this one. This girl was very attractive, but easily in her late 20's.

The same age Alice had been when Powell terrorised her.

_Yeah, and just to frame you. It was your fault he raped her, just like he raped Marty. _

_Shut your piehole, cricket! _

Todd saw Alice's eyes widen as she took a step back. He realised he must be looking at her like she was the Ghost of Christmas past, but he couldn't help it.

Could Alice have had a secret daughter when she was only 13 or 14, and given her away? That would explain the age…

Could she be a niece, a younger sister or a cousin named in honor of her relative?

No.

This girl didn't resemble Alice Henson – he would swear on his life it WAS her. He'd almost gone back to jail after being falsely accused for her rape – you didn't forget the face of someone you were connected to that way.

The common name and the identical face could be explained away separately, but together? Not a chance. Todd licked his dry lips and asked a question that seemed so simple, so innocuous; he couldn't believe how much was riding on the answer.

"What's your last name, Alice?"

She smiled hesitantly, but answered him immediately.

"Henson. I'm Alice Louise Henson."

_Oh God Oh God Oh God…_

Todd leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He didn't harbor any hope that he would wake up and find this all a bad dream, but he needed a second to breathe before he took the next step he knew he must.

"Could you please bring me today's paper?" he asked her. Lots of people in his life would probably call him a coward – he'd called himself one many times – but this was selfishness, not bravery. He needed the truth, and he needed it now.

She didn't respond.

When he opened his scratchy eyes, the worry on her smooth, gentle face told him he'd hit jackpot.

"I don't think I should do that, sir."

"Why not, Alice? It's just a newspaper," Todd wheedled, but she was too smart not to guess the reason he wanted it.

"Mr. Laurence, you woke up two days ago, and when you found out the date, you became so upset that Dr. Nayhurn had to sedate you."

Todd took a deep breath, which pummelled his aching ribs, and sat up as much as he could, which hurt worse.

He looked closer at her.

"Please," was all he said.

To his relief, she didn't say any more before she left the room. She was back within a minute and with downcast eyes, handed him the folded object he'd insisted on having.

Todd unfolded it with icy fingers and saw with no surprise at all that it was a copy of _The Banner_. And right there, above all the news that was fit to print, were all his suspicions confirmed.

_August 28__th__, 1992. _

Todd let the document fall to the ground through his numb hand. He'd seen the date clearly enough, and he had no interest whatsoever in the events covered in the paper.

After all, if what he feared was happening was happening, he'd already lived through them 18 years ago.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This tale is directly inspired by Stephen King's excellent novel _11/22/63_, in which an ordinary man finds a wormhole back in time and uses it to try and stop tragedy before it occurs. No copyright infringement intended.

The characters and some of the backstory herein are the property of the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended. This is a non-profit fan fiction written for entertainment purposes only.

Trigger Alert: Please Note - This story includes detailed background/plot references to rape and sexual violence. No explicit sex is included – reader discretion is advised.

Author's Note: In this story, Victor Lord Jr. does NOT exist and Todd does not have a brother. Adult Todd in this story is as portrayed by Trevor St. John. Younger Todd is as portrayed by Roger Howarth.

_**August 28**__**th**__**, 1992 **_

Todd struggled - and after a painful minute, managed – to sit up straight on the pillow.

"Mr. Laurence, I'm going to go see what's keeping Dr. Nayhurn," Alice said. She looked eager to be out of his company, and he couldn't blame her one bit – but despite the initial, disbelieving terror he'd felt at seeing her, he didn't want her to go.

"No. Please don't leave…"

Her face saddened, but she started backing towards the door. "Please listen, Mr. Laurence. I'm sure you're very scared, but you've just made a great, major step, so now you need more help than Beth or I can give you. I promise I'll come right back."

"Wait!"

The desperation in his voice stopped her – temporarily.

She looked at him expectantly.

"Did I say anything?" he asked.

"When, Mr. Laurence?"

He swallowed, ignoring the rasping pain it produced in his dry throat.

"You said I woke up two days ago and then got very upset. What happened?"

Alice's brown eyes filled with concern as she took a step back into the room.

"It happened so quickly, Mr. Laurence. You woke up quite easily, as though you'd just been sleeping for a long time."

"Which I had been," Todd observed.

Alice nodded gravely. "Yes. You were able to speak to Dr. Nayhurn and tell him your pain wasn't beyond your ability to cope with, which was a great relief to us all."

Todd felt a deep surge of gratitude for her kindness as she went on.

"Dr. Nayhurn wanted to test your cognitive capacities right away, so he grabbed the closest item in the room with writing on it, which was -"

"A newspaper," Todd finished. He nodded, feeling as shell-shocked as ever, but now even more determined to find out what the righteous hell was going on here.

"What did I say? What did I do?"

"Mr. Laurence, please…"

"You've got to tell me," Todd insisted over her obvious discomfort.

Alice looked down at her slim hands. As she did, her long, dark-blonde hair slipped over her shoulders.

"When you saw the date, you started to yell 'No! It can't be! Not again!' over and over. You were thrashing so much, we were afraid you'd harm yourself, otherwise we never would have sedated you."

Another horrible thought occurred to Todd. "Did I hurt you or Beth? Or any other nurses?"

She shook her head immediately. "Oh, no sir. It took a couple of orderlies to keep you still so we could inject you, but they're trained to do that. We were fine – it's you we were concerned about."

Todd fell back onto the bed, and Alice Henson took the opportunity to step toward the door again. "Mr. Laurence, I really should see what's keeping Dr. Nayhurn. He insisted on being notified the moment you woke up again."

Todd nodded weakly. "Are you sure there's nothing else I said?" he asked her.

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. She clearly had something else to say, and it was just as obvious to Todd that she wasn't sure if she should divulge it to him.

After another long look at his face, she decided to take even more mercy on him and tell him the truth.

"There was something you said as you were drifting off after we sedated you. You got so quiet all of a sudden – and I can't help thinking that it wasn't just the Ativan that had calmed you down. You seemed so certain and determined; as if something had just occurred to you."

"And what did I say before I passed out?" Todd asked her.

"You said, 'Stop them. I can stop all three of them.'"

a

a

a

a

As soon as the door closed behind Alice Henson, Todd disobeyed her strict instructions and left his bed – and that was when he knew he was really in trouble.

He shuffled over to the window, his gait growing surer with each passing step. He felt stiff, but –

_Color me shocked, Einstein. You've been impersonating a head of lettuce for the last two weeks, minus one hissy fit. You just need to limber up. Steady as she goes, pal. _

He'd worked in this place as a janitor upon his release from prison, albeit briefly, and knew its every corner as well as the city views to be seen from its rooms. One glance out the third-story window had been sufficient to show him that he was indeed in Llanview Hospital.

And one good look down at the crowded street below was enough to tell Todd that this was no joke or elaborate hoax.

Twilight came late in August – late enough for him to tell that every single model of car he could see in the parking lot and zooming by on the road beyond was horribly dated; downright primitive. Especially for someone like him who liked to purchase a new auto toy every two years – black, foreign and pricey.

Todd hurried back to the bed, picked up the remote control and clicked on the TV that hung high up on the wall, thankful at the sudden memory that Llanview Hospital gave all its patients free television service. What a country.

His mouth dropped open at the horrible sight of the female newscaster's frizzy blonde pyramid perm, baggy electric-blue blouse and man-sized blazer.

"**George Bush's presidential campaign took a sudden nosedive today with Newt Gingrich's verbal attack against presidential hopeful Bill Clinton, whom he likened to Hollywood icon Woody Allen. **

**Gingrich declared that Woody Allen is 'a perfect model of Bill Clinton Democratic values' and that 'Woody Allen having non-incest with a non-daughter to whom he was a non-father because they were a non-family fits the Democratic platform perfectly.'**

**Members of both parties have sneered at this pontifical posturing, and it's doubtful whether George Bush will be grateful for his fellow Republican's comments. **

**In other news -" **

Todd rayed off the TV, chilled but oddly calm now that he knew the truth.

This was no dream or drug-addled nightmare. He was perfectly awake, and two nurses had told him that all things considered, his physical and mental state was better than he could have hoped for.

Nor was it an elaborate scheme played as a horrible punishment for all the pain he'd inflicted on (Marty) people – look at all the evidence. The relatively old furnishings of the room. The jalopies outside on the street. The news report. And Alice. Most of all, Alice.

No one he knew had the time, power, money or inclination to even come close to pulling a hoax like this off.

Except maybe himself.

_Okay, fine. Fine and dandy, pal. You're not freaking out like you did before – you just might get through this. _

Todd nodded to his cricket voice. True – he just might indeed live through this.

And damned if he didn't want to survive it – because now he knew what he was doing here, blasted back through the years like a fool through a cannon, back to the almost-to-be scene of the crime.

Crimes.

Truthfully, part of him had known why he was here the moment Alice told him what he'd said when he realized when and where he was.

**Stop them. I can stop all three of them. **

Stop what? Stop whom?

_Pal. Are you kidding me here?_

Todd's stomach rolled in a slight, nauseous manifestation of the shame he'd carried with him for so long like a disease, like the phantom pain of a missing limb.

Because of course he knew what, or whom he was here to stop, and you could take it either way you wanted to –

All three of the rapes he was responsible for.

Carol. Alice.

Marty.

Or, of course, his younger self, Zack and Powell – the Three Musketeers.

_Stop them. Stop them all. _

Todd closed his dry eyes. Where most people would have prayed for strength, he sent messages with his mind, and could only hope with all his heart they reached the recipient.

**Blair, look after our kids. And if I don't come back, tell them I love them every day. **

**Jack, watch over your brother for me. **

**Sam, I love you. I'm so proud of you.  
**

**Starr, sweetheart, take good care of Hope, and wish me luck. I'm doing this for you – and your brothers. **

a

a

a

a**  
**

Half an hour later, Alice came back with his dinner and a message from the neurologist. Dr. Nayhurn had called and was thrilled he was awake, but another patient had had a "setback", and he would be in Philadelphia all night coping with it.

"Dr. Nayhurn will be in very early to check on you, Mr. Laurence. Then he'll have to go home and sleep before making any more rounds. He hates having to do that, but it's a new hospital rule that doctors have to get an allotted amount of sleep or they won't qualify for malpractice insurance. So you please eat up and rest, too."

Todd wasn't tired, but he was famished, so he sat down and devoured his surprisingly palatable hospital meal of chicken breast, mashed potatoes, raspberry Jell-O and vanilla ice cream.

After Alice praised both his patience and his good appetite, he thanked her, said goodnight, washed quickly, brushed his teeth and then went back to bed.

Todd didn't harbor any hope that he could sleep, but what the hell – he'd been asleep for the last two weeks, and there was no time to lose.

As the bright city lights flowed in through the windows - he'd insisted on leaving the blinds open – he lay awake, missed his kids – and started to plan his immediate future for this sojourn into the past.


End file.
